Awakening
by Clever Hobbit
Summary: One of the Ringbearers wakes after his experiences in Mordor to find that he is healed.


Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you may recognize- everything belongs to the marvelous JRR Tolkien.

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He opened his eyes and blinked blearily. Where was he? How did he get here?

His vision began to clear and his eyes adjust- he quickly snapped his eyes shut. _Light!_ It burned his eyes. He had not seen light for what seemed to be endless ages, except for the blazing fires of Mount Doom.

Light He wasn't in Mordor any more!

Not willing to hurt his eyes, he used his other senses to access where he was. He was warm, that much he could tell- most likely in the sunlight- and was lying on something soft. There was a sweet smell of wildflowers and herbs drifting delicately on the air, mingled with the sound of birds twittering and chirping. _How odd that I haven't appreciated small things like this for some time,_ he mused.

He stretched out one arm, and then stopped. He repeated the motion curiously. _I'm moving- and I don't hurt!_ he thought. The weight of endless aching from fathomless miles of traveling had finally been lifted. Gone!

But not only had the pain left his muscles- it had left his stomach, as well! He didn't feel hungry. There was no empty chasm in his middle that food couldn't fill. Hunger, another problem he had had to deal with for the longest time, was gone! And with it, thirst. His tongue was no longer swollen, his throat wasn't dry and parched, and his lips were healed, not cracked and bleeding as they had been.

He cracked his eyes open again and let them adjust. Blue sky hung over him like a comforting blanket, with tree branches swaying in a gentle breeze overhead. Slowly he raised his left hand up to his face and looked at his palm. It was not calloused, blackened, and burned has he had thought it would be- it was soft and clean. He gently lowered the hand to his face and felt the skin. Soft, smooth, dirt-free and clean. He moved his hand all over his face joyfully. His face didn't feel skull-like, with taut cheeks from hunger like it had been in Mordor.

His fingers moved to his eyes and came away wet. Tears. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried for joy. _I'm free,_ he realized. _But from what? I was enslaved. To become free you must have been trapped. What was I trapped by? What was I a slave to? Perhaps there's someone who can tell me_

He sat up carefully, still wary of any hidden pain. Nothing. He looked at his surroundings. A green field, dotted with splotches of colorful flowers, swayed in a gentle breeze. Trees on the edge of the field rustled restlessly. A river could be heard burbling in the distance.

Suddenly a small thought came to him. _I think I know this place. I have been here before. Yes, definitely. Why? Because, because- because of a ring. Yes, that's it. A ring._

_Why?_

Suddenly it all hit him again. Mordor, Mount Doom, Shelob, the Ring, Orcs, the Great Eye

He staggered to his feet, reeling. _The Ring!_

"I'm free," he whispered, then stopped. His voice! Not a croaking rasp! It didn't hurt to speak! "It's gone," he said a little louder. "Gone. _I AM FREE!_" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Letting out a joyous cry, he followed the sound of the river, crashing through the trees. The river came into view, and he knelt by the edge where water pooled in little pockets and beheld his reflection.

There was a brilliant smile spread across his face; his blue eyes sparkled, brimming with tears of ecstasy. His cheeks were flushed with happiness, and his hair hung down, tickling the sides his face and his ears. _His hair_

He pulled away from the river suddenly and began combing his fingers through his hair disbelievingly. It was there He felt at his mouth, his teeth- they were all there! He examined the rest of himself. His arms were strong, no longer brittle-looking and thin. His fingers were no longer broken. His bare feet had hair on the tops. He was whole, he was free!

He stooped to peer at his face once more, to make sure that it truly was real, that it wasn't all some lovely dream, when a hand swooped into the little pool and splashed water in his eyes.

"Hey!" he said mock-indignantly, too happy to be really irritated. He turned towards the offender was met by a shock. Standing in front of him was someone he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Déagol?" he choked as he stared into the face of one long-dead to him. "Déagol?" The apparition didn't move. "Déagol I- I'm so sorry. I didn't- didn't mean" A slow smile flickered across Déagol's face. He flung himself forward to the bemused, stuttering being in front of him, wrapping him in a strong hug.

He let himself stand, and then fell into Déagol's embrace, weeping. He had no words- all he could do was sob on the shoulder of his best friend, his cousin, who he had missed for all of those long years.

Déagol pulled back, holding him at an arm's length, studied him. He attempted to make an apology once more. "Déagol, I truly didn't mean to to-" Déagol cut him off.

"Oh, do stop trying to apologize, my dear Sméagol," Déagol said happily. "I forgave you for that incident many, many years ago."

Sméagol gave a wan smile, and then sank down on to the riverbank, dabbling his feet in the cool water. Déagol knelt beside him.

"It's all too much," Sméagol said softly.

"What was that?" Déagol asked, dipping his toes in and out of the pool.

"Too much. I was in Mordor last I can recall, and now I'm here, in this wonderful place, out in the sunlight, which I hated and avoided for so long. But now- now it's comforting and warm. I haven't felt warm in well, it doesn't matter. And I feel better- much better than I ever have been, even before that accursed Ring. That's what I don't understand."

"What?"

"I don't understand how I can be so young again, when I was such a wretched creature."

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Déagol asked, a concerned look on his face.

"How I got here? Where I am? If this isn't a dream? No. The last thing I remember is-" he concentrated hard. It was as if those last moments at Mount Doom were blurry and faded, erased near the very end. "Falling," he said at last. "Where am I?"

"Well," Déagol answered slowly, "this is what you might consider the afterlife."

"So you're saying I died?"

"Basically."

"Oh." A little smile quirked at the edges of Sméagol's lips. He leaned back and lay on the smooth grass. "That's good to know."

Déagol looked at Sméagol curiously. "You seem to be taking the fact that you died very well. Better than I did. I went into a bit of a shock. I thought I was dreaming."

"If this is a dream, then I like it better than real life."

They sat in a companionable silence, drinking in the sounds of nature; time seemed to have stopped. After a while, Sméagol broke the silence.

"Déagol?"

"Hmm?"

"I was a terrible person."

"How so?"

"After I killed you, I went around home, spreading rumors and lies. They cast me out, and very rightly so. I went to the Misty Mountains, and I stayed there for years and years. I don't know how long I was there, but then by some strange chance I had someone stumble into my cave. Baggins. Bilbo," he said, trying out the name for the first time. "Bilbo. He took It from me. And I looked for it everywhere. The Enemy caught me. I revealed Bilbo's name and the location of the Shire. And then-" here he broke off, and then continued rather pensively.

"Then the two hobbits came. One of them was a Baggins. Frodo. And the other- Sam, I think. I didn't catch his last name. I led them to the Black Gate. And then- when they couldn't get in- I took them a different way. To Her. Shelob. I tried to kill them both. I'm so glad it didn't work, but I was terribly angry at that time. And I tried to kill them again on the slopes of Mount Doom. And then I hit Sam over the head with a rock and- I took the Ring from Frodo. I- I bit off his finger to get to it." Sméagol sat up and hung his head in shame, a tear sliding down his face. Déagol moved over and put an arm around Sméagol's shoulder.

"It's all right," he whispered softly.

"No- no it's not. How can Frodo and Sam forgive me for what I did? How can anyone on Middle-Earth forgive me for what I did? How can any of my family forgive me for what I did? How can _you_ forgive me?" He looked over at Déagol, his face by now wet with tears. "I killed you. Nobody should forgive me. I was a terrible person."

"But you have been forgiven," Déagol stated simply, as if that resolved everything. "I don't think Frodo could have destroyed the Ring without you. He's forgiven you for that. Over time, I'm sure Sam will be able to find it in his heart to forgive you. I forgave you, as I said, long ago. I knew about everything you just told me about. We can see what goes on in Middle-Earth. I forgave you when I saw how you led the Ringbearer to Shelob. I forgave you for everything. And so has our family."

"Our family? Here?"

"Yes, of course, you silly lad. Where did you think they went when they died?"

"I could see grandmother again? And my parents?" A happy grin was rapidly growing over Sméagol's face.

"Yes."

"And- and they've forgiven me?" Sméagol asked tentatively.

"Yes. You can come home."

"What are we waiting for?" Sméagol cried. He leapt to his feet, pulling Déagol up with him. He began to walk off, and then turned and came back to Déagol. "Wait- where do we go?"

Déagol laughed. He pointed Sméagol in the right direction, and they began to walk, with their arms slung over each other's shoulders, towards the horizon, to home.


End file.
